


to be observed

by kissbrack



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Character Study, KageHina - Freeform, M/M, kageyama pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:47:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24213136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissbrack/pseuds/kissbrack
Summary: "You are still ahead of him, but he's coming for you like a supernova. And the worst part is that you don't mind burning with him."
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	to be observed

**Author's Note:**

> hello! I haven't written fics in a while so I decided to give it a go again during quarantine! I wanted to write something about how the perception kageyama has of hinata has shifted over the course of their friendship and consequently, the way kageyama perceives himself, so enjoy! comments and kudos are welcomed!

You are 14 years old and you feel like the weight of the world has been dropped on your shoulders. You carry it, relentless, aggressive, demanding, claiming that you need no one else to lean on because it is your burden and your burden alone to bear. You can manage it all. You have to manage it all. You are the best at it after all. Classmates and teammates alike step in your way, faking kindness when they offer their help (that's what you tell yourself anyway). Your superiority complex is one that your actions can vouch for: you set, you hit, you toss, you score, you win (the team wins). No, you win. In your mind, it is your win. Your vision is like the one of a racehorse, hyperfocused and tunnel-like, the light at the end of it getting closer with every moment, yet still painfully away. Something is slowing you down, so you work harder and harsher while the weight on your shoulders gets heavier every day. You tell yourself to suck it and keep setting and hitting and tossing and scoring. 

You are 14 years old, and the weight on your shoulders casts a shadow around you that gets darker every day, but in your eyes, you only see the light at the end of the tunnel. You crave it so bad, you don't notice the side-eyes and the muttered comments from your teammates. You're too busy thinking where the ball will fall and how fast you will hit it. They call you the king, and boy does heavy lay the crown. You think you cannot be surprised, that you can read the other players so well that when you see him, the violence of your heart skipping a beat almost tops the crown of your head. He rises rough and wild over the net, unprecise force hitting the ball back to you, eyes ablaze and wings spread. For a second there, you get lost in his aggressiveness, your eyes wide and your mouth agape. "this is what release looks like" some buried part of you says "this is what flying looks like". The light at the end of the tunnel blurs away from your eyes for the split second you make eye contact with him, reading the fire in his eyes like a warning. "I am here. Make sure to remember me". You are in awe, although you won't admit that after later down the road. Your mind clicks back into the tunnel. The weight drops on your shoulders again, the crown remains poised in your head. You look at his face, red like his hair and twisted. It reads like a dare, and that same buried part of your head wants to accept it. You look away. You win the match. 

You are 15 years old and trying your best to understand how his mind works. Don't get it wrong, it's so cathartic to finally have someone that knows the way you think, hitting your sets with his eyes closed. There is someone finally adapting to your larger scheme, but the release you feel doesn't come close to the sensation you expected. There is some part of you that is not pleased for some reason. If he goes all-in with blind faith in you, you must be doing everything right (like always). But something is lacking that slips through your fingers. You still carry that weight around but you don't know why anymore. There was a reason, and a good one if you haven't dropped it yet, but you can not longer put your finger in it. You catch yourself daydreaming about letting the weight go. Maybe you'll jump as high as he does. Maybe you'll fly as he does.

You are 15 years old, and there is an irrational fear building at the pit of your stomach. You have always been three steps ahead of him, and you still are, but there is this looming sensation hanging in the air whenever he gets better. He no longer follows you blindly, he has started to demand you to adapt to him. And you do, unwillingly at first but now as natural as breathing. You hate that you did it with so much ease. You find yourself rooting for him. You hate that when he scores the rush rushes through your body differently than when the others. You hate the way your stomach flips when his eyes hyperfocus on the ball, borderline feral. You hate that the first thing you do before a point starts is to lock eyes with him, and you despise the silent understanding that comes from him. You are still ahead of him, but he's coming for you like a supernova. And the worst part is that you don't mind burning with him. 

You are 16 and your language has turned into a non-verbal conundrum of looks and gestures. But it makes sense. Somehow, he makes sense out of it, and you realize that this is the first time someone has made an effort to understand your body in the court. The quick glance between two players. The way he tilts his head towards the target. How his eyes widen at the sight of victory. The fidgeting of fingers before a serve. The little jumps on the ball of his feet when he is calculating the shot. The side smile when the winning point approaches. You realize you have been observing him so much the light at the end of the tunnel has started to look like a bright fire. You don't know what to do with that thought. You look at him with your chest pounding. His eyes have hunger in them. You really don't know what to do with that thought. The weight on your shoulders get heavier, but this is a burden you weren't expecting to carry at all.

You are 16 years old, and the image of him absolutely free above the net is driving you insane. You know you should be focused on getting to the end of the tunnel, to finally grasp the light that you have been craving so bad, but the walls of the tunnel keep crumbling down, and sunlight keeps getting in and the end fades away more and more every day. You don't understand why your silent language is so special to you. Why instead of being ahead of you rather have him side by side. Why the rush when he scores linger more than usual. Why he pushes you to be better but without the bitterness that came with the crown. What it used to be an annoying thought has turned into a murder of crows that makes you question so much while understanding so little. He shouldn't be that often in your mind. he shouldn't make you want to tear the tunnel down. A bonfire has been growing from within and is threatening to consume you whenever he gives you that understanding look. 

You are 16 and realization hits you like a ten-ton truck. He grins at you, sweat on his forehead and exhaustion in his eyes, the message getting to you before his lips make it out. "one more". And this right now is your _oh_ moment. You set the ball for him mid-sentence and he still hits it perfectly. The only sounds in the gym are the echo of the ball and both of your harsh breaths. He beams at you, proud of the way you understand him now. Because you understand him so well, and it gives you so much vertigo to think that so does he. Being known to the smallest of details by him is terrifying and you wouldn't have it another way. You want to scream your guts out because it has been happening before your eyes and just know, the sheer muscle memory of repeating the same toss for the nth time is the one action that makes you understand. the tunnel crumbles down. The light fades away. The heaviness melts. You feel weightless. He asks for another go. 

You are 16 and if you gave it try, you're pretty sure you could fly. The best part is that he would watch you with his defiant eyes. And you wouldn't have it any other way.


End file.
